


Penance

by kelios



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Murder, Rough Sex, Serial Killers, Violence, Wincest - Freeform, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 15:17:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19253803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelios/pseuds/kelios
Summary: Sam is broken inside, and Dean knows this. But he loves his little brother more than the world itself, so he's going to keep cleaning up Sam's messes. The only thing he asks in return is that, on the nights Sam doesn't go out, Dean gets him any way he wants him.





	Penance

**Author's Note:**

> Written for last year's SPN_Masquerade--I just never got around to claiming it.

It's just a game to Sam, Dean knows. And yet he still plays along, following the hints and clues to Sam's latest conquest, burning the bodies--what's left of them, anyway. Sam had gone for twins this time, Alicia and Max Barnes according to the blood-soaked IDs Dean found with their clothing, and he wonders briefly what it was about them that drew Sam’s notice. Probably just the fact that they were brother and sister--it hasn’t ever escaped Dean’s notice that Sam’s victims of choice often mirror the two of them. They are--were--beautiful, young and happy as Dean pauses for a moment to scroll through the pictures on their phones. 

He sighs, salting the ashes, scattering everything to the winds and praying that nothing comes back for Sam. So far Dean has been lucky, if you can call it that--no ghosts, no vengeful spirits. Sometimes he wishes one of them would come back, give him something to fight--a way to escape, perhaps. A way that doesn’t involve the flashing lights that Dean can see in the distance, a ways off still, but far too close for Dean’s liking. 

Dean dismisses that thought as quickly as it comes, tossing the filthy shovel into the Impala’s trunk and closing it with a bang. He'll never give up on Sam, never leave him, not voluntarily. He made that peace long ago, even though he knows he’s likely earned a trip to hell for allowing this to continue, for needing it as much as Sam. 

 

Sam's waiting for him when he gets back to the room, TV on mute turned to some serial killer documentary. It amuses him to watch the talking heads fumble around the truth, never quite filling in the blanks. He's naked, as Dean had ordered, bare back against the headboard, half gone six pack next to the remote on the bedside table. 

"Gonna shower," Dean says tersely, and Sam waves him off lazily, satisfied smile curving his lips as he takes in Dean's filthy, disheveled appearance. Dean wonders sometimes which Sam loves more, the kill or the coverup. Frustration and love and rage and love and hate and lovelovelove simmer and boil under Dean's skin and he bites down hard on his inner cheek so that none of it spills out onto Sam, his own secret to keep. "Get hard," he orders harshly. “But don’t come. I want you ready for me." 

Sam's eyes narrow at the command, then he smiles jauntily. "Rough night, big brother? Need me to help you work out a few kinks?" It wouldn’t be the first time, not by a long shot--when Dean first found out about Sam’s extracurricular activities he hadn’t even tried to stop him. He’d just made one rule: Sam could do whatever he wanted to them, but he always comes home to Dean--and whatever Dean wants from him in return. And tonight...

Dean's teeth grind, jaw nearly cracking with the pressure. He's exhausted, truth be told, muscles sore and aching, though not half as much as his heart. Some nights are just harder than others, and his own need is rising--for penance, for absolution. To punish and be punished for the things he allows to happen and the things he secretly revels in. 

"Just do it, Sam," he says wearily, and closes the bathroom door behind him. He doesn't wait to hear Sam move or see his face fall, just turns the water as hot as he can stand it and steps under the scalding spray. 

When Dean steps back into the room, skin pink and sensitive, towel slung around his hips, Sam is ready for him. Long thick cock swollen and red, shiny-slick with precome, one hand smearing through the mess, up and down, twist on the end--hypnotic. He smiles at Dean anxiously, clearly worried he'd pushed too far this time, and Dean feels his heart melt even as his resolve hardens. The towel falls to the floor unnoticed as he stalks across the room, settles across Sam's lap.

"You were bad last night, Sammy," he says mildly. His hands linger on Sam’s shoulders, tease at his hair, enjoying the thunder of Sam’s pulse and the swell of his cock against Dean’s ass. "That was quite the mess you left for me to clean up, and I almost didn’t get there in time. What would we do if the police got there first?" 

"I'm sorry," Sam breathes, hips rocking up restlessly as he tries to get a little friction where he needs it. His eyes are shiny with remorse that Dean knows he doesn't really feel. Not yet. He still thinks he can get out of his punishment, that Dean will let him slide tonight. But then part of the reason Sam needs Dean so much is that he's never been able to read the room when it really counts. "Dean, please--I’m sorry--"

"I know, sweetheart," Dean tells him tenderly, and Sam’s hopeful expression fades. "But you have to. That's our agreement, remember? You do what you want out there. And I do what I want in here." He leans into the ghost of a kiss, licks away the whimper that escapes Sam’s lips.

"I remember," Sam whispers miserably. His hands, huge and powerful, clutch bruises into Dean's hips, and a secret thrill shivers up Dean's spine at the submission in Sam's voice. So much strength, so much power, all under his control. “Please, Dean. I’m sorry. Please don’t make me--”

"Ten lashes tonight," Dean says, quiet but firm. His fingers trail up Sam's cock as it jumps at his verdict, straining against Dean’s earlier command, as eager for what comes next as Sam’s heart is reluctant.

"Dean, please," Sam begs, but this is one of the few times Dean can't be swayed. There are consequences for every action, and Sam needs periodic reminders. "You know I hate it--" 

"Ten," Dean says implacably, and moves sinuously off Sam's lap to stand against the wall, arms spread to grip the rings he'd nailed into the wall earlier that evening. "And no lube," he adds as an afterthought. Sam whispers his name again, despair warring with want, but Dean just rests his cheek against the wall, eyes closed as he waits. 

 

The first lash doesn't break the skin, just lays a red hot brand across Dean's thighs. He bites down on a shout, presses himself harder against the wall. "Count them off, Sammy," he orders through gritted teeth, and hears Sam's voice, watery and thin, in response. 

"One."

The second lash lands across the meat of Dean’s ass, harder, sharper, thick red heat following the heavy blow. He can hear Sam behind him, his whole world narrowed down to the whistle of the heavy strop being drawn back, Sam’s panting moan when he brings it down across Dean’s body.

“Two.”

“Three.”

Sweat trickles over broken skin, stinging the painful welts, and Sam moans again. Dean anchors himself against the wall, aching with need as he spreads his legs wider, and the next three blows are bloody, savage. The ninth strike catches Dean’s balls and he nearly passes out, white hot agony flaring bright and vicious up his spine. He can’t hold back his scream, and the tenth blow is almost an afterthought, ten growled in his ear as Sam shoves him flat against the wall, grinds against him mindlessly. 

“Dean,” he gasps, ragged and pained, eager and wanting. “Dean, please, don’t--” 

He’s right where Dean wants him, walking the line between Sammy and the animal he becomes when he leaves Dean alone to hunt. He’s going to hurt Dean, and he’s going to love it, and he’s going to hate himself for it when they’re through, as broken as Dean could possibly want him. 

Penance, for both of them, the only kind of pain that Sam understands. 

Dean pushes back against him, grinds against Sam’s dick greedily, soaking up the pain in his brother’s voice. Nothing gets through to Sam like Dean’s pain, nothing hurts Sam like Dean’s suffering. And Dean needs the pain, Sam’s and his own, needs to be reminded of his own role in Sam’s sickness and everything he doesn’t do to stop it. 

By the time Sam’s done, Dean’s shaking, arms trembling above his head and agony screaming exquisitely along every nerve ending as Sam grabs his thigh and pulls, spreading him wide. Sam’s dick feels huge as he ruts against Dean’s hole, still tight with the scant prep Dean had given himself in the shower. Dean tries to relax but it’s impossible, pain singing through him, thrilling through him, forcing another rough scream out of his throat when Sam finally shoves into him, the broad flared head of his dick spearing Dean open. Sam licks the tears from Dean’s cheek and thrusts harder, faster, chasing his release.

It doesn’t take long, never does. Sam’s need is too great--Dean’s pain, his brief, willing submission unleashing the beast they both work to contain, or at least channel. Dean takes it all, fingers clawing at the cheap wallpaper until Sam’s release paints his insides with scalding wetness, exactly what he wants, exactly what he needs. 

Sam’s hips slow, aftershocks of pleasure shuddering through him with every slick push and brutal pull on Dean’s insides. One final thrust and Sam collapses against Dean with a satisfied sigh, licking over the bite mark on his shoulder as their hearts gradually slow. Dean’s knees give way when Sam finally pulls away, a low, pained sound tearing itself from his throat. A hand in his hair yanks his head back, a thing that is and isn’t Sam looking down at him from behind his brothers eyes as he’s hauled to his feet and shoved toward the bed. 

Dean wakes the next morning lying on his stomach, pain mixed with pleasure thrumming through him. Hard fingers dig into the welts on his thighs, a warm tongue soothes the ache in his ass with careful, gentle sweeps and dips. He sighs, pushing back slightly, wanting more, and Sam stops. 

“Dean?”

“Morning, Sammy,” Dean says drowsily. He’s half hard again--still, since he doesn’t usually come during Sam’s punishments. Sam nudges him over, eyes anxious when Dean winces at the pressure on his back, then crawls up the bed to curl up beside him, half on top of him. There’s a bitemark on Dean’s chest that Sam can’t seem to tear his eyes from, a hot, stinging throb that will likely scar. 

“‘M sorry, Dean,” Sam whispers, and the ache in his voice matches the ache in Dean’s heart. “I didn’t want to.” The tears in his voice spill down his cheeks and sting the abrasions on Dean’s shoulder as he sobs. Dean smooths one hand through the tangled mop of Sam’s hair, soothing sounds coming automatically. 

“I know you don’t want to, Sam,” Dean tells him finally. “That’s why you have to.” He tugs Sam’s head back gently, forcing Sam to meet his eyes. “I don’t want you to, and that’s why I have to let you. It’s our punishment.”

“But why?” Sam cries, anguished. “Why do you care about them? Why can’t we just do what we want?” 

Dean’s hand tightens painfully in Sam’s hair, just enough to focus Sam’s attention fully on him. Sam whimpers in his hold but goes obediently still.

“Because the police were five minutes from catching me last night, Sam,” Dean says quietly. “Because if they catch me, they’ll catch you, and I can’t let that happen.” Dean leans forward against the ache in his shoulders to kiss Sam gently. “You need me and I need you. And--” He kisses Sam more firmly, enjoying the stinging taste of copper from the cut inside his lip as heat slowly starts to build inside him. “--what you’re doing is wrong. They’d kill you if they ever caught you, Sammy, that’s how wrong it is, and I just let you do it anyway. I even taught you how to do it better, because I love you. Because I could never tell you no...and I never will.” 

“Thank you, Dean,” Sam whispers, eyes shiny again but this time with gratitude. “Thank you for taking care of me.” He licks his lips, leaves them slick and pink and begging to be kissed again. Dean pulls him close for a quick taste, then pushes gently on Sam’s shoulder. Sam slides eagerly down Dean’s body, his lips and hands finding all their favorite spots until he’s back between Dean’s legs, nuzzling into the short, wiry hair at the base of Dean’s dick. Dean props himself up to watch as Sam licks a trail of fire along his dick, dragging a deep groan from him along with another stream of precome. He slides into Sam’s throat with long practiced ease, Sam’s watering eyes meeting his the way they have since the first time Dean put him on his knees. It’s heaven, hot and wet and glorious as he thrusts up into Sam’s mouth, one hand sliding back into Sam’s hair to hold him in place as Dean fucks him hard. 

“God, your mouth, Sammy,” he groans. Sam’s eyes flutter nearly shut at the praise, but he knows the rules, and manages to keep them open and fixed on Dean. “So good for me.” Sam pushes two rough fingers into Dean’s ass, pain and pleasure shooting raw and sharp through the abused flesh, and Dean comes with a shout, forcing his way deep into Sam. Sam tries to swallow it all, eyes still open but rolling back as he fights for air and to take as much of Dean into himself as he can. Finally Dean stills, hand unclenching from Sam’s hair with a sigh. 

“Come ‘ere,” Dean says, exhausted satisfaction turning his voice to gravel, and Sam scrambles eagerly up the bed to kiss him. Dean chases the taste of himself from Sam’s mouth with long slow licks, sucks Sam’s tongue until he’s as clean as either of them can ever be. Sam’s whining deep in his throat by the time Dean’s satisfied, hips pushing against Dean’s flank as he begs wordlessly for his own release. 

“Come for me, Sammy,” Dean finally orders, and Sam does, teeth latched into the tender skin of Dean’s throat, painting Dean’s thighs and chest in thick white stripes. Afterwards he licks the bite mark on Dean’s chest clean and shares himself with Dean, exhaustion making his movements slow and a little clumsy. Dean gathers him close, wiping them both as clean as he can with a corner of the ruined bed sheet before they both drift into a well earned sleep, visions of their next game already dancing through both their dreams.


End file.
